


Ride (noun: journey, verb: be carried)

by umbrafix



Series: Things that ought to have been in the series but were tragically left out [3]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6106768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrafix/pseuds/umbrafix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of missing scenes from Episode 3.1, Ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After Bixby is shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Morse finds Bixby shot, we see him sitting under a tree when Thursday and Jakes arrive...

Thursday knew it had been Morse that called it in, of course. Fate seemed to be conspiring to throw them together, whatever Morse’s current feelings on the subject. And Thursday was hoping if he kept the rein loose, if he handled Morse in just the right way, the lad would come back.

 

Finding a friend murdered certainly wasn’t the way he had been hoping that would be accomplished, however. He let Jakes take the lead when they arrived, getting Morse’s attention and getting him up. The lad looked shattered, and not just because he’d been up all night.

 

Thursday crooked a finger at Jakes. “Take him inside, get him sat down,” he murmured quietly. “I’ll be in in a minute.”

 

Jakes and Morse headed towards the house; Morse’s head swinging round for a moment to track Thursday’s movement as he crossed to DeBryn.

 

“Doctor.”

 

“Inspector. A few minutes more, if you would.”

 

Thursday nodded. “Morse…” he began.

 

The doctor seemed to know what he was asking. “Was soaked through when I arrived – pulled this one out of the lake, I understand. I lent him my jacket.” When Thursday looked askance at the one he was wearing, he added, “I keep a spare in my car. It can be… necessary in my line of work.”

 

“Hmm. How did he seem, to you?”

 

DeBryn didn’t answer for a minute, continuing his work over the body. “Distressed, of course; shaken. It’s not a pretty sight, this one.”

 

“Mmm, and someone he was friendly with at that.” Thursday removed his hat, turning it idly in his hands. “Did he say anything?” he asked finally.

 

DeBryn gave him a sharp glance. “Other than about this body you mean? I rather feel you should talk to him yourself.”

 

“I have. Well, not today. I saw him last night though, and the one before.” Thursday scuffed his shoe over the grass. “Not quite himself.”

 

He turned away a moment later, putting his hat back on and starting to follow the others.

 

“Lost.” DeBryn’s voice sounded loud behind him. Thursday turned, startled. “That’s the word I would use, Inspector.”

 

“Yes,” Thursday murmured. “I think you might be right, at that.”


	2. Sandwiches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday sits eating his cheese and pickle sandwiches, and he and Morse carry on their conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what might have happened after Morse talks to Thursday about some of his time in prison, and blaming himself for Thursday getting shot.

_“Don’t ever blame yourself.”_

_“If I’d have been quicker off the mark-“_

_“You were there, at the end, no one else. You had the chance to run, to look to your own neck. You didn’t, you stood. A pinch like that? It’s not brain that count, it’s guts. I won’t forget it; ever.”_

 

Morse nodded slightly, swallowing around the hard lump in his throat. He sat back against the bench, and watched the people walking past. Thursday carried on eating his sandwich in silence, but it was clear he was waiting Morse out.

 

“How are you really?” Morse asked eventually. “Other than your liver, that is?”

 

Thursday gave a small huff. “Right enough, I suppose. I’m cleared for duty.”

 

“Strange said you were... that they didn’t know how things would go, for a while.” Morse leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared straight ahead of him. Thursday took another bite of his sandwich.

 

“I get enough fussing from Mrs Thursday.”

 

“Well, I’ve not been here.”

 

There was the rustle of the paper as the rest of the sandwich was put down. “Morse-“

 

“If you’d died-“ Morse cut himself off upon hearing how uneven his voice was. He inhaled deeply through his nose. “You said, throw in the towel and they’ve won. But they did win. You shot, me in jail, the case buried. What was the point of it? Of any of it?”

 

“We stopped them, Morse. That means  _something_!” Thursday replied fiercely. Morse quirked his lips in a tight, pained smile, and looked away. “Doesn’t it?”

 

“Like there aren’t a million more like them. And a system so corrupt that it helps them to get away with it.”

 

“Think you’ll change things by burying your head in the sand then? That was never your way. You’re too good to lose to this, Morse.” Morse blinked, and shrugged the comment off.

 

“Maybe I’m not cut out for it,” he said after a moment. There was a snort from beside him.

 

“That’s the biggest load of bollocks I’ve ever heard. Look at you; even holed up in your cave you’re still picking up clues.” Thursday’s tone was no-nonsense, and brooked no opposition.

 

“Not what I meant. I don’t know if I can… I don’t know if I can do it anymore. It feels like every time - every time something happens now, it’s a bit harder to…” Blenheim Vale was a pit Morse wasn’t sure if he could dig himself out of. He remembered their faces; Topling, Angela, _Jakes_ … His fingers twitched involuntarily; he clenched his hands into brief fists and then relaxed them again. “I’ll work on this one; I owe it to Bixby. Then… I don’t know.”

 

“Owe it to yourself, more like,” Thursday said sharply. After a moment, he let out a sigh. “Can’t say as I’m pleased at the idea of losing you as my bagman – I had to fight hard enough to get you there.”

 

They sat for a few minutes, both lost in their own thoughts.

 

“You didn’t ask what prison was like.” Morse looked over at Thursday for a moment, eyes searching his face. “Strange and Jakes both did.”

 

“Mmm.” Thursday took up his sandwich again, and inspected it for a moment. “There are some things you don’t ask, lad. People either tell you, or they don’t.”

 

Morse nodded, and hunched his shoulders in his jacket. “I feel like I’m still there, sometimes,” he offered quietly, and then they spoke no further until Thursday had finished his lunch.


	3. Episode Tag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode, Thursday gives Morse a hand moving out of the cabin.

Thursday showed up just as Morse was finished packing. “You done then?” he asked as he knocked on the open door.

 

“Yes, pretty much. Not much to pack.” Morse looked around the empty cabin with a lingering gaze.

 

“Can tell you’re a bachelor,” Thursday said, and then immediately regretted it. Things between Morse and that Monica lass obviously hadn’t ended well. “Otherwise you’d have heaps of cushions, and knick knacks and all. Can’t say as I understand the appeal, myself.”

 

“No.” Morse gave him a tight smile, and stuck his hands in his pockets. He stood as if at a loss, waiting for something to provide a push. The question, Thursday found, was how hard to push, and when. Bit like one of those fancy tumbler locks, was Morse – if you didn’t deal with every component in the right order you’d find yourself locked out.

 

Shaking off his flight of fancy, Thursday reached out and knocked on the top of one of the boxes. “Shall we be getting on then?”

 

“Oh.” Morse seemed to have almost forgotten Thursday was there, glancing up with a distracted gaze. He nodded, and picked up the first of his boxes. Thursday went to grab the other, but Morse quickly said, “No, I’ll take them!”

 

“I can manage, lad.”

 

Morse eyed him, clearly wondering whether or not to belabour the point. “Could you open the car door for me?” he eventually said.

 

Thursday sighed, but took his hands off the box. Truth be told, the tightness in his chest was far too easily set off. He just hated being reminded of it.

 

The back of the car was space enough for Morse’s two boxes, his suitcase and another bag. His record player was the only thing that remained in the empty looking room – he’d said he’d take that on his lap.

 

He still looked, how had DeBryn put it, _lost_.

 

Morse was an odd one; he’d never say if something was wrong, and plunged on after being stabbed and shot and beaten, but he was so painfully transparent at the same time – you could always tell when something was eating him. It had taken Thursday years to get Morse to the point where the lad would open up to him of his own volition; even so, it had still surprised him when Morse had told him about his time in prison. It made him both sad and a little guiltily proud that he didn’t think Morse would do so with anyone else.

 

For now he needed something easy, neutral; let the lad work round to it in his own time. “Did you like it then, living out here?” Thursday asked, after telling Morse to do a final check for anything he’d missed.

 

Morse closed the bathroom cabinet and paused in the doorway to the main room, leaning hip and shoulder against the frame. He still seemed uneasy in his own skin – sometimes almost absent, sometimes overfull and unable to contain his emotions.  _Raw_. It reminded Thursday a little of the way the lad had been when he’d come back after being shot; one giant, exposed nerve.

 

“I liked the lake. Listening to the water. Not having to talk to anyone.” Morse paused and appeared to actually consider the question. “I’m not sure. It was easier. Simpler. Lots of time to think.”

 

Thursday eyed him. “Not sure that’s always a good thing, in your case.”

 

“No, I suppose not. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop replaying it, over and over in my head. The sound of the shot; you falling to the ground. The blood.”

 

Thursday had had a few problems with that himself – the trick shot from the magician half a week before had made his blood run cold.

 

“It’s over. Done,” Thursday said firmly. Morse nodded unconvincingly, and Thursday wished the lad was willing to listen, to let this go. It hadn’t helped that Thursday had had a coughing bout a few minutes earlier; Lord knew the lad didn’t need any extra incentive to heap guilt on himself. “Besides, it was my turn – you took the last one.”

 

Morse’s face was pained, his eyes shuttered and dark. “Who among us will take the next?” he muttered. It almost sounded like he was quoting something, but then that was frequently the way, with Morse.

 

Morse had always had a cynical streak, but right now he seemed like a shadowy reflection of the green young lad who’d first darkened Thursday’s door. Thursday had seen Morse falter before, and it had been a temporary hitch; one the lad had come out of. Having got his teeth back into police work again, Thursday was increasingly confident that this would be the same. Morse couldn’t seem to get there on his own though; needed a little help.

 

“Hopefully none of us,” Thursday said wryly, feeling the pause had gone on too long. “But if you see someone aiming a gun your way, feel free to dodge.”

 

Morse glanced up at that, eyes a piercing blue. He hesitated for a moment, then moved out into the room and perched on the bare mattress. Following his cue, Thursday sat a couple of feet away in the chair. “How’s Mrs Thursday?” And if that had been what Morse was originally going to say, Thursday was a monkey’s uncle.

 

“She’s well. Hasn’t known what to do with me underfoot – especially since I wasn’t gracious about it. She started inventing things for me to do, just so as I’d stop…” He cleared his throat. “She was worried about you, lad. We all were.”

 

Morse’s eyes shone bright as he turned his head, and after a moment Thursday realized it was anger, not tears, that he was concealing. He waited, but after a moment Morse seemed to regain control of himself and gave Thursday something more grimace than smile. “Give her my best.”

 

Thursday drew his pipe out of his pocket, and inspected the bowl of it. “You know I’d have visited you, if I could?” Silence, and a quick glance showed the lad’s throat working furiously. “And for the rest, Bright ordered them all to keep away; to avoid accusations of bias at the inquest. I’d hoped to see you though, once you were out.” He left unspoken that Morse hadn’t come to see him, had left no way of getting in touch.

 

“I didn’t… I couldn’t…” Morse scrubbed a hand fitfully over his face, visibly struggling with whatever was in his head. “I was worried it might bring trouble down on you. And I thought…” His voice got so low Thursday could barely make it out. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t – that Mrs Thursday might not want… That is…”

 

“Thought I blamed you? That she did?  We’ve been through this, Morse.”

 

“I know,” although his tone said he didn’t. “I just meant, that’s why…”

 

“Alright, don’t give yourself a hernia trying to get the words out.” Morse looked up, surprised, and Thursday gave him a slight smile. “I was sorry not to see you, but I knew you’d have your own things to look to.” Certainly he hadn’t blamed Morse for not coming, but he’d been bloody worried about the lad. “Could have made it easier to find you though!”

 

Morse hesitated, and Thursday remembered what Miss Hicks had said, about him not wanting to be found. Had a tendency to hole up like a hurt badger, did Morse. “Sorry,” was all Morse said, in the end.

 

“And you’d have brought no trouble down on me; you were cleared.”

 

“I thought-“ Morse stopped, and then appeared to pick his words with great care. “I wasn’t sure there was a place for me at the station, even if I had wanted to go back. That night at – at Blenheim Vale, no one would come, sir. I thought that might mean…” he trailed off, looking miserable.

 

“What? That they were all in on it; all against you? You can’t have believed that, Morse?” Thursday asked roughly.

 

Morse shrugged. “Too much time to think, while I was in prison. To wonder. When I got out… It was easier not to know, for sure.”

 

Thursday didn’t know how to deal with the stuff that went on in Morse’s mind, sometimes. “Well you ought to have had a little more faith in them. Maybe Strange and Jakes weren’t suicidal enough to follow you out there, but they went to Bright, and he organised a team. Only reason I’m still breathing,” he added quietly.

 

Morse nodded, and Thursday could see he’d taken it as a reprimand. Perhaps it had been. “Don’t get so wrapped up in your head that you forget there are people on your side, Morse.”

 

“Sometimes it’s just hard to know who to trust,” Morse said a little unevenly.

 

Thursday leant forward; reached out and tapped his pipe against Morse’s knee. “Is it?” he asked gently.

 

And Morse looked up and gave him a long searching look, as though he could see right down into the heart of Thursday. “No,” he said softly, “I suppose not.” His cheeks went red at his own honesty, and Thursday looked away to spare the lad’s embarrassment.

 

“Anyway, you’d have been welcome at our house, Morse; you always are.” At Morse’s silence Thursday considered a moment; he could see the lad starting to shut down. No more to be gained from this today. “Come on then, let’s get you to your new place.”

 

Morse retrieved his record player, and held it on his lap in the car with the same care one might show a child.

 

“What’s it like, anyway? Your new place?”

 

Morse pulled a slight face. “Only one I could find at short notice. Basement room.”

 

“Someone at the station could have put you up for a bit, while you looked.”

 

“This’ll be fine.” Morse’s tone was final.

 

“Alright,” Thursday said peaceably. “By the way, I’m to invite you for dinner tomorrow night. Win wants to see you with her own two eyes, check you’re alright.”

 

Morse cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, ah, that is to say-“

 

“It’s not a request.” Morse fell silent. “Six o’clock, then?”

 

Thursday saw Morse nod out of the corner of his eye, and they wended their way towards Oxford. Maybe it would take another good case to shake the lad loose. In the meantime, Thursday would get Win to make him sandwiches for a few days, so that he had something to do at lunchtimes other than brood and stare at his crossword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't work out if this was rehashing conversations from the episode a bit too much, but at the same time all those conversations were left a bit unresolved.


End file.
